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Author, Historian, Storyteller

Archives for November 2015

Live and LearnLeave a comment

I got an email this morning from someone that used to be a large part of life. However, over the years, this person has faded into the periphery. This was done consciously on my part for mental health reasons, and reading through the email this morning I was reminded why I made this decision. No matter what I do, this person assumes the worst of me. To my knowledge, I have never done anything to warrant this thinking, yet it pervades. It not only pervades with this person, but they also do their best to swing other people over to their way of thinking. It is always assumed that I am acting out of selfishness or ingratitude or have some sort of devious ulterior motives at play. Or maybe they think I’m being passive aggressive, which is laughable. The majority of people who know me would describe me as just plain aggressive, or blunt. I don’t think the word passive would appear anywhere near the top fifty words used to describe me. That’s not how I roll. Yet, it is how this person perceives me, which begs the question do they even know me at all?

In all honesty, I think the answer is yes, but with a caveat. That caveat being, that everything they know about me is filtered through the negative lens that they view the world with. And that I will never understand. How exhausting must it be to go through life expecting the worst from everyone you encounter? I can’t imagine. Even people who have let me down in the past, or repeatedly flaked on me, I still give them the benefit of the doubt. I’m not completely naïve and I adjust my expectations so that if they let me down again it won’t take me by surprise, but I don’t write them off completely. I don’t automatically assume that they will be a flake forever and always. Maybe that person was having a bad day, week, or month.  Maybe they have worked to improve on their weaknesses. Short of psychopaths, murderers and rapists, people deserve to be treated as a worthwhile person regardless of, or in spite of, what they may have done in the past. Especially if they don’t even know of anything they ever did wrong to the other person. Because guess what, if you believe that someone has slighted you, but you’ve never addressed that with them, then that bad is on you, not them. People can’t apologize or make amends for slights that they don’t know exist.

Absolute Best

At any rate, it is abundantly clear, looking at the current people that I have surrounded myself with, why I am happier now then I have ever been in my life. It is amazing what a difference it makes to be surrounded by people who expect good things from you, and think positive thoughts about you. It was a difficult decision to cut this particular person out of my life, but after this morning’s email, I see that it was well worth it. During this week of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the positive people that I have in my life.

WritingLeave a comment

It occurs to me, that I have been sorely neglecting my blog as of late. Thankfully, it is not because of the subject matter of my last blog. I am actually doing better on that front. Still not great, but better. Baby steps.

It is because, I set myself a challenge. Instead of finishing up the rewrites on my novel by mid-December, I decided that I wanted to have it done before Thanksgiving. Which means I am tackling twice as many chapters every day than originally planned. Which is daunting, but has been unexpectedly exhilarating. Diving in head first, no holds barred, down and dirty, and every other cliche you can think of for getting shit done no matter what it takes. Apparently what it takes is pushing everything else to the back burner, including my blog. But never fear, I will be back. I just have to see this baby put to bed first.

Continued

Depression, Life, LossView all 2 comments

Since I started blogging I have devoted more than a handful of blogs to mental illness. I’ve been clinically depressed since I was 11 so I have plenty of firsthand experience to bring to the table. It is also through that experience that I whole heartedly believe that the stigma that surrounds mental illness has to go. It’s misleading and detrimental. I have a chemical imbalance, I treat it and I feel no shame about that. I’m perfectly comfortable taking about depression and answering people’s questions.

But lately I have been feeling ashamed. Not about my depression, but about something else. My grandmother was a nurse during WWII and during the Battle of the Bulge she cut her hand. It wasn’t a big deal. She wrapped a bandage around it and kept on working. However, because she was injured while deployed in a war zone, she was awarded the Purple Heart. She hated that medal so much, she gave it away at her first opportunity. The reason, she thought that it was absolutely asinine that she had been given the same award as boys she sent home with missing limbs. With burns over 50 percent of their bodies. In other words, her cut hand warranted the same award as a grievously injured soldier. She was ashamed of it.

appletree

I guess this apple didn’t fall far from that tree, because my shame has been coming from very much the same source. I’ve been struggling all year, but it was only recently that a doctor put two and two together and diagnosed me with PTSD. My first reaction was that was ridiculous. I’ve never been to war, I’ve never been in a life threatening situation, so how in the world could I possibly have PTSD? In my mind, I hadn’t been through enough to warrant that diagnosis. I felt ashamed that I had usurped the condition of Veterans and survivors. I felt like a fake.

So I got a second opinion and the same diagnosis. That’s when I started to look at my symptoms and had to admit to myself that despite the lack of something horrifically traumatic in my life recently, I have PTSD. The horrible anxiety and weekly if not daily panic attacks should have been a clue. The crippling nightmares that I wake up from thrashing and crying, should have been a clue. The insanely vivid and realistic dreams that I can’t escape from and wake up in the morning sore from tensing my muscles all night, should have been a clue. The constant debilitating exhaustion, yet fear of falling asleep should have been a clue. The waves of feeling like an empty broken shell that hit me out of nowhere, should have been a clue.

PTSD

But I felt ashamed that I was breaking down like this because of the death of my aunt. That didn’t seem like a good enough reason. People experience death all the time. Yes, it was tragic and it was sudden, but I got to say goodbye. I got to give her one last hug and tell her that I love her, will always love her. That’s more than I got with any other family member I’ve lost. And that my friends, is where my trauma comes from. Amongst other things, between the ages of eight and twenty, I lost seven family members. The seventh being my mother. Needless to say the majority of the emotions associated with all of that loss was buried instead of dealt with. So when my aunt died, the dam broke and in essence so did I.

I am not a veteran and I have never been in a war zone, but I have PTSD. They say the first step to recovery is admitting what’s wrong. So I admit it, and I’m not going to feel ashamed about it anymore.